To Make it His
by Kagome-reincarnation
Summary: L is used to getting what he wants, but this time he may have gone a bit too far. Kidnapping minors, after all, is a legal offense. Kidnapping the king's favorite artisan, however, could lead to some rather severe punishment. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: The characters within this story all belong to writer Tsugumi Ohba and artist Takeshi Obata.  
Warnings: Cursing, possessiveness.  
Summary: L is used to getting what he wants, but this time he may have gone a bit too far. Kidnapping minors, after all, is a legal offense. Kidnapping the king's favorite artisan, however, could lead to some rather severe punishment._  
_Completed: January 21, 2010

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**To Make it His  
**by: Kagome-reincarnation

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Light woke with a groan, the back of his head sending pains to the rest of his brain. Although he wanted nothing better than to curl into a ball and wait out the pinging pains that were echoing through his mind, Light knew better. The fact that his migraine was originating from the back of his head instead of the front told him that something was wrong.

The fact that the bed he'd woken in wasn't his only confirmed it.

As attempting to flee or otherwise act in situations and areas unfamiliar to a person could wind up with them injured or dead, Light sat up with a wince, a hand coming up to help support his head and possibly ease the pangs. He'd read somewhere that applying touch to areas of pain helped to soothe them. Now was probably as a good a time as any other to test it out.

A quick look around informed him that he had no idea where he was. Well, to be more concise, he was in a five-wall room, in a bed that seemed to be the main centerpiece. Light frowned, but winced at the pang that the simple movement sent through his head.

Realizing that he wasn't going to get very far with the migraine in place, Light fell back in bed, his head falling against the plush and comfortably fluffy pillows. His eyes closed against the darkness of the room, he groaned before willing his headache away.

He was disappointed to find that it didn't work. If anything, his migraine became even worse. He rolled into a ball against the sheets and the simple sounds that the movements caused sent violent shoots of agony into his temple.

After a while, the headache lessened by the slightest degree – but Light had realized that he wasn't going to get anywhere while waiting for the migraine to recede. Cursing whoever had hit him – for he'd realized he'd been struck from behind -, Light slowly slid out of the bed. A quick once over of himself revealed that he'd been dressed in simple, high quality clothing. Comfortable clothing. This nearly brought another frown to his face – who had touched him as he'd slept? – but he decided to worry about it later. The clothing was easy to move around in, and for now, that was enough.

Light made it to the door, which opened easily against his touch, and halfway down the hall. It was there that he'd fallen, his prone form lying unconscious against the wooden floorboards that proved the house was a rich one.

The last thing he saw as the world faded to black before his very eyes was the emblem of a letter – "L" – against the corner of the floorboard.

Though he was unconscious – blissfully free of the migraine that had plagued him – Light felt himself being lifted – ridiculously easily – and being carried back to the room he'd woken in.

He hadn't realized that one of his hands had clenched against the shirt of the man that held him, effectively attaching himself to the mystery man.

It would be hours before he woke again, but that was alright.

L, the thief that had taken the artisan instead of his work, had every intention of keeping Light with him no matter how the man argued with him. He was only an artist after all. No matter how beautiful the man was, L was aware that he likely wouldn't be anyone worth spending time with. Artisans, after all, rarely did more than paint. For that, they needed only their eyes and their hands.

Looking callously at the hand that grasped his shirt, L grabbed the wrist with his forefinger and thumb, squeezing it between the two fingers until Light released the shirt with a quiet cry of pain.

Looking down at the man he'd kidnapped, L glanced around the small room. He'd ensured there were no windows. There was only one door, and it was the only room connected to a corridor that led straight to his private chambers.

In other words, Light had been effectively imprisoned within L's large and traditional home.

After seeing some of the boy's artwork, L had decided that he liked it. Then, he'd decided that only he should gain the benefits of such artistry. By capturing Light… He would have a monopoly on all of Light's artwork.

And Light _would_ work.

An artist is nothing without their art, and Light knew very well that artists of Light's level would likely be far too attached to their work to waste their days away when the necessary tools were in place.

The tools that he'd ordered for Light were of the highest quality. They'd arrive the next day, meaning that L had a day to consider an image or prompt for Light to work with. His intention was to simply leave the canvas and supplies in the room and a single written phrase.

He had no doubt that an artist as talented as Light would be able to do such a thing and do it well.

The only problem L could find in Light was the worst. Light couldn't seem to shut his mouth. Whenever L saw him, the artistic man was in conversation with someone. Often, it was gossip.

In other words, he was concerned that the artisan he'd kidnapped would waste the few minutes they might see each other for with idle chatter that didn't concern him. Of course, he knew that Light would be angry, concerned. Curious.

It was of no consequence to him, L decided. Nothing Light did could possibly disturb him. The room he'd placed the younger man in was soundproofed, and the corridor between Light's room and his own was long.

And the royal locksmith himself had made the lock L had placed on Light's door under the pretenses that it was for a safe. No, there was no way that that Light could possibly escape.

L nodded to a few servants in the halls as he left his chambers. No one would enter them without his express permission, and even if someone did, they'd have to search very carefully for the four mechanisms needed to gain entry to the secret corridor that led to Light.

Already, L was thinking ahead. How he could keep anyone from being suspicious. How he could ensure that the supplies would be attributed to his newfound 'hobby.' The stories and rumors that needed to be spread and the supply masters needed to be called.

His mind on the teenager that he'd captured, L's expression turned fearfully predatory. Light and his artwork belonged to _him_ and he'd be damned if he let anyone else have them.


End file.
